by Bill Crider
“Then why did you take those shots at me yesterday.”
Tuffy tried to look surprised. He wasn’t very good at it, and his voice rose a little.
“Me?” he asked.
“You,” Rhodes said. “I figure Mrs. West called you right after I left her house. She must have told you I knew about Pep and John being friends. You were probably already planning to come over. She was dressed for a visitor, and I wasn’t the one she was expecting.”
Tuffy opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, maybe deny something. But no words came out.
Rhodes waited for a second, then said, “You must have gone over to Mack Riley’s looking for me. I told Mrs. West that’s where I was headed. Maybe you were planning another little accident for me, maybe not. But you got your chance when I went to the Old Settlers’ Grounds.”
“That’s a bunch of crap.” Tuffy was no better at sounding convincing than he was at sounding surprised. But he kept trying. “I never did anything.”
“I have a slug from the rifle that fired the shots,” Rhodes said. “I’ll just have to match them to your .30-.30 to prove that you’re the one.”
“I don’t have a .30-.30.”
“Maybe not. But I’d say the slug was about that size. Maybe it wasn’t. What kind of rifle do you have, anyway?”
“This kind right here,” Tuffy said, ducking down behind the counter and coming up with a rifle that he stuck right in Rhodes’s face.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Rhodes barely had time to jerk his head to the side before Tuffy fired. Flame burned Rhodes’s eyes as the bullet zipped by him and into the stack of tires on the opposite wall. Rhodes hit the floor and rolled.
Tuffy climbed up on the counter and worked the rifle’s lever action. A brass shell winked in the air, and Tuffy aimed the rifle as Rhodes tried to stand and reach his pistol. He didn’t get his hand on it because his foot slipped in a patch of oil. He fell again, which might have been the reason that Tuffy’s next shot missed. The bullet sparked off the concrete floor and whined into the tires.
Rhodes came up on his hands and knees, still trying to get his pistol out.
Tuffy didn’t want him to get it. He was clearly beyond caring about whether Rhodes’s death appeared to be an accident. He fired his rifle again.
Rhodes dived to his left, hit on his shoulder, and rolled under the same car that had been there on his last visit. The engine was still hoisted out, hanging above the empty engine compartment on a thick chain.
It didn’t hang for long. Tuffy ran to the hoist and released the catch. There was a high-pitched squeal; the chain rattled, and the engine fell.
Rhodes was already slithering out from under the other side of the car when the engine struck the concrete with the sound of one boulder ramming another.
Tuffy cursed. It would have been hard to explain just why Rhodes was under the car, but Tuffy could have come up with something. Rhodes could practically hear him.
“God knows why that hoist let go. The Sheriff was under there checking out something he wanted to see for that old Edsel he bought, and the chain must’ve slipped. Maybe the catch was defective. You could check it out.”
And of course by then the catch would be defective. Tuffy would make sure of that. Rhodes crouched beside the car, his pistol now in his hand, waiting for Tuffy’s next move.
It was very quiet, and Rhodes could hear the rain, falling harder now, drumming on the tin roof of the building. Then Rhodes heard Tuffy starting the wrecker.
Rhodes jumped up and ran around the car. When he got to the door, Tuffy leaned out of the wrecker and fired two rounds. Rhodes heard something buzz just over his head, and Tuffy ducked back into the wrecker.
Rhodes stopped and brought his pistol up in a two-handed grip. He fired twice, starring the wrecker’s windshield at just about the level of Tuffy’s head. Tuffy had ducked out of the way, but the wrecker choked and died.
Rather than trying to start it again, Tuffy bailed out of the wrecker door and ran across the parking area, carrying the rifle in his right hand.
Rhodes went after him, splashing through the cold puddles. If Tuffy got into the maze of old automobile bodies, he was going to be hard to find, but there was no way to stop him short of shooting him.
And there wasn’t much chance of shooting him. A running man with adrenaline pumping through him might be able to hit something the size of an elephant, but anything smaller was just about impossible.
The rain began to fall even harder, throwing a gray curtain over the wrecking yard. Rhodes could hardly see the junked cars as he ran past them, their hoods wide open like the mouths of giant metal birds in a weedy nest.
Tuffy ducked down a row where cars were stacked on top of one another two and three high, and Rhodes slowed down. He was pretty sure that Tuffy wouldn’t just keep running. Sooner or later he was going to stop and make a stand and take a few more shots.
Rhodes tried to think how many times Tuffy had fired the rifle already. Three inside and twice outside, he thought. If the rifle held six rounds like Mack Riley’s Marlin, Tuffy had one left. Rhodes didn’t think Tuffy would have any extra rounds in his pockets, though he couldn’t be absolutely sure. So there would be only one more shot.
Of course one could be enough.
Rhodes stopped beside the shell of an old white Plymouth with a vinyl-covered roof. Atop it there was fairly new maroon Ford Crown Victoria that had been in a pretty bad accident. The front end was crumpled almost all the way back to the driver’s compartment, the seats were missing, the wheels were gone, and the trunk was popped open.
A wrecking yard was the obvious place to hide a Jeep Cherokee, Rhodes thought, and he wondered if John West’s Cherokee was somewhere nearby or whether it had been flattened and hauled away. He hoped it was there. It would make his case against Tuffy that much stronger.
Rhodes risked a quick look around the side of the Plymouth. He didn’t think Tuffy would shoot on impulse, not if he had only one shot left.
Rain spattered down on the narrow lane between the rows of ruined cars. Green weeds grew thick and tall along the edges of the lane and among the cars. There was no sign of Tuffy.
The smart thing to do, Rhodes knew, would be to go back to his car and have Hack call Ruth for back-up. But that would mean leaving Tuffy alone and maybe giving him time to get out of the yard. Rhodes didn’t want that to happen.
Sticking close to the car bodies, Rhodes began walking slowly down the right-hand side of the lane. The rain ran down the collar of his jacket and drew chill lines down his back. The weeds brushed against the bottoms of his pants and shed moisture on them. Rhodes wondered if you could really catch pneumonia from getting wet and cold. If you could, he was doomed.
After he had gone a few yards, he could see the rusty metal fence that bounded the wrecking yard. The cars at the end of the row were practically touching it. If Tuffy climbed on top of the cars, he could jump over the fence. He might already have done it.
Or he might have moved on to another row entirely. Rhodes really had no idea.
Something made a scraping sound just above Rhodes’s head, and Rhodes looked up. The body of an old black Chevy sat on top of two other cars, and it moved as Rhodes watched. Then metal screamed, and the body of the Chevy tilted over and fell toward him.
Rhodes threw himself to the side and almost managed to get out of the way. But he didn’t quite make it.
The side of the car hit Rhodes in the back and knocked him sprawling. Sparks flashed in front of his eyes, and he thought for just a second that he had lost his grip on the pistol. But he hadn’t. It was there in his hand, and he tried to roll over and meet the attack that he was sure was coming. He didn’t want to be shot in the back.
Tuffy was still saving his last shot, however. He was running for the fence, jumping from rain-slicked car top to car top. Rhodes tried to sit up, but pain shot up his backbone, and he lay back down. He raised the pistol, but he didn’t
think he could hit Tuffy.
He didn’t have to. Tuffy got almost to the fence, but then his right foot slipped out from under him. He looked almost comical as he rose in the air and landed on his back with a loud thud that dented the car top. The rifle slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. For just a moment Tuffy lay still. Then he slid slowly off the top of the car. When he hit the ground, the weeds hid him.
Rhodes tried again to sit up. The pain in his back hadn’t subsided, but he was able to raise himself to a crouch. He put down a hand and pushed upward. His knees popped, and he thought his back might lock up on him, but it didn’t. He straightened as much as he could and took a step.
When his foot touched the ground, an electric shock tingled upward and spread out between his shoulders. Rhodes took another step anyway. It didn’t hurt any more than the first one had. It didn’t hurt any less, either.
He walked slowly toward where Tuffy had fallen, each step sending a message up Rhodes’s back. The message said: “Stop and sit down.”
Rhodes was too cold and wet to sit down, and besides, he had to check on Tuffy, who seemed pretty sure to be hurt worse than Rhodes was. Just in case Tuffy was playing possum, however, Rhodes held the pistol ready.
“Tuffy?” Rhodes said when he got near the spot where West had fallen.
There was no answer. Rain beat on the tops of the cars. Rhodes waited, and finally the weeds shook as if someone were moving in them.
“I have you covered, Tuffy,” Rhodes said. “And you just have one shot left. You might as well come with me.”
“You can go to hell, Sheriff,” Tuffy said.
The tip of his rifle poked out from the weeds, and he fired his last shot.
This time, he didn’t miss.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Rhodes felt the bullet burn him somewhere high on his shoulder. He sat down, hard. Water splashed around him, and his backbone twanged.
Tuffy came out of the weeds and headed for the fence. Rhodes watched him go and tried to bring up the pistol for a shot. For some reason, he couldn’t make his hand move.
When Tuffy reached the last stack of cars, he climbed from bumper to bumper to the top and got ready to jump the fence.
“You’ll break your neck,” Rhodes called.
Tuffy stopped and looked back. “You could be right, Sheriff. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”
He climbed back down and walked toward Rhodes. Rhodes watched him coming through the rain.
“I don’t have to jump any fence,” Tuffy said. “And I don’t have to run. I can just drive the wrecker. Or your car. You’ll give me the keys, right?”
“I don’t think so. I’ll give you a ride to the jail, though.”
Tuffy stopped in front of Rhodes and laughed. He wiped the rain out of his face.
“I don’t think you’re going to take me anywhere, Sheriff,” he said. “You would’ve shot me by now if you could, so when you give me your keys, you might as well give me the pistol, too.”
Tuffy bent down to take the pistol from Rhodes’s right hand. Rhodes waited until the Tuffy’s fingers touched the gun, and then he hit him, bringing his left fist up from the ground with all the strength he had left.
He caught Tuffy right on the point of the chin. Tuffy’s teeth clicked together and his head snapped back. Rhodes hit him again before he could fall, catching him on the side of the head this time. There was a loud pop, which Rhodes knew was probably his knuckle, though he hoped it was Tuffy’s skull, and Tuffy collapsed across Rhodes’s lap.
Rhodes let him lie there for a second, then pushed him off. He took the pistol in his left hand and prodded Tuffy hard in the ribs. Tuffy didn’t move, but Rhodes felt like hitting him again anyway, maybe in the head, just for fun, but with the pistol this time. He didn’t, though, because there was no use in blaming Tuffy for Rhodes’s own stupidity. He should have known Tuffy would shoot. It was either that or give up. Rhodes had thought Tuffy would give up, but he’d misjudged him.
Rhodes twisted his neck and tried to see where he’d been shot. He couldn’t see the spot, but he didn’t think he was hurt badly. He was bleeding, but not much, and he figured the bullet had just creased him. It had taken a little chunk of muscle, however, and Rhodes’s shoulder felt as if a Boy Scout had built a fire in it.
After a while Rhodes stood up. It was harder to do than it had been the last time he’d done it, and he swayed for a second after he got to his feet, but he didn’t fall back down.
Tuffy was still lying where Rhodes had shoved him, his mouth almost in a puddle that the raindrops dimpled as they fell. Rhodes toed Tuffy’s head a little to one side. Tuffy was going to have to lie there until Rhodes could get help, and Rhodes wouldn’t want him to drown.
Working mostly with his left hand, which was beginning to swell, Rhodes got Tuffy’s hands together behind his back and cuffed them. Tuffy would still be able to walk if he came to, but he wouldn’t be driving anywhere or climbing any fences.
Rhodes started back to his car. When he was halfway down the lane, he heard Tuffy calling him.
“You can’t leave me here,” Tuffy yelled. “I’ll get pneumonia”
“Welcome to the club,” Rhodes said, and sneezed.
“I’ve never been shot before,” Rhodes told Ivy.
“That’s pretty lame,” she said. “I hope you don’t think that excuses you.”
They were sitting on the sofa, watching Doris Day and Rod Taylor in The Glass Bottom Boat. Rhodes thought Taylor was all right, but he was no Rock Hudson. Of course it could be that Rhodes’s judgment was clouded by the time-released antihistamine he was taking for his runny nose.
“I didn’t mean to get shot,” Rhodes said.
“You didn’t mean to get shot? That’s even worse than saying you’ve never been shot before. And what about your face? Not to mention your hand.”
She touched his swollen hand gently, but it was clear that she was still upset. Rhodes didn’t really blame her. He shouldn’t have gone to Tuffy’s place alone, even if his suspicions hadn’t completely hardened, and he’d underestimated Tuffy’s ruthlessness.
“Would it help if I said I’m sorry?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s better. Now say you won’t do it again.”
“I won’t do it again.”
“All right. I’ll take your word for it. This time. But you’d better not mess up again, bub.”
“Bub?”
“You heard me.”
A commercial for a finance company came on, and Ivy reached for the remote to mute the TV.
“You never did say whether Kara West knew what was going on,” she said.
Rhodes leaned back on the sofa. “Tuffy says everything was his idea, and I more or less believe him. He fell for Kara, and he thought he could get John out of the way by lying about him. He told Mrs. West that John was going out with other women, but it was just Tuffy he was out with.”
“And because Kara trusted her husband, that didn’t work,” Ivy said, as if she weren’t sure that trusting a husband was a wise move.
“It didn’t work,” Rhodes said. “Not soon enough to suit Tuffy, anyway. It might have worked, eventually, but Tuffy got in a hurry. Maybe the insurance money had something to do with it, too. John had a good policy, and Tuffy must have thought he could get Mrs. West and the money, too. All he had to do was kill his brother.”
“Brotherly rivalry,” Ivy said. “An old story.”
“Practically the oldest,” Rhodes agreed. “Anyway, he got John drunk, took him out on that road, and told him they were out of gas. John was supposed to walk to town and get some while Tuffy stayed with the car.”
“And Tuffy ran over him.”
“Well, he didn’t run over him. He just hit him.”
“Same thing.”
“I guess so,” Rhodes said. “Pep found out about it because he knew John and Tuffy were together that night and got s
uspicious. He slipped into the wrecking yard and found West’s Cherokee. I thought maybe Tuffy had asked him to repair it, but Tuffy wasn’t quite that stupid.”
“He wasn’t stupid at all. He managed to kill Pep and Randall Overton, didn’t he?”
Rhodes nodded.
“But why?” Ivy asked.
“Tuffy says that they were trying to blackmail him. Pep must have told Overton that Tuffy had killed his brother, and the two of them cooked up a scheme to make a little money out of it. That’s just the kind of guys they were. They threatened to tell me the story, but I’m sure they didn’t care about seeing Tuffy get what he deserved. They thought it was just another scam, another way to make a few easy dollars. But they misjudged Tuffy.” He paused and looked at Ivy. “Like I did.”
“You certainly did,” Ivy said. “But you won’t do it again. You promised.”
“That’s right.” Rhodes reached for the remote. “Show’s coming back on.”
Before Rhodes could punch the mute button, Ivy grabbed the remote from him and set it on the coffee table.
She said, “He made all three deaths look like accidents. Not just anybody would have seen the connection.”
“Maybe not,” Rhodes said. “But there just aren’t that many accidents around here. Not fatal ones.”
“Don’t try to make light of it. You’re the one who saw what was going on when no one else did. How’d he kill them, anyway?”
“He got them drunk. It worked on John, and it worked on both of them. Get a man drunk, and you can talk him into a lot of things. Going for a swim, for one. Sitting in the car for a smoke, for another. And then you just take advantage of the situation.”
“So they were the stupid ones, not Tuffy.”
“Looks that way,” Rhodes said.
“What about the Edsel?” Ivy asked.
“We’ll just have to hope somebody takes over the wrecking yard. Or we can go somewhere else and try to get parts. Bull Lowery can do the body work, though.”
Yancey came bouncing into the room, barking.
